Safe in Birmingham
by Rhanon Brodie
Summary: "She was very close to him letting his guard down. She'd have him like he'd had her the night before: a slave; an outlet for this thing that was burning and twisting inside of her. He'd made her his. It was only fair that she did the same to him." Murphy / OFC, Sequel to Yours and Mine
1. Chapter 1

_A/N : So, this is the morning after 'Yours and Mine'. I was going to post it as the second chapter, but I figured it's so lenghty, it deserves its own spot. And that meant that I was able to pick out a new Murphy Icon. This won't be a single chapter, I've decided to break it up. It's completely written, but there may be a tweak here and there. I basically finished this with pitbullsrok in mind because she expressed worry that there wouldn't be any more Murphy/Wren lovin' in Ean Beag. I think I can squeak one more screw out of those two, but I hope you like the twist I've put in here._

_This deals with light bondage / discipline. Yup. I've never read a fic on here with either of the boys tied to a bed (save for a brief interlude in my story 'Unlimited Blue'), so I wanted to give it a go. Tell me your thoughts. It's easy to view Murphy or Connor as the dominant, but I always wondered just how well one of them would sit up and beg. Will Connor get his chance to show off? Let me know!_

_As stated in 'Yours and Mine', the redhead (henceforth known as Sloane Bishop) is being developed for the follow up to Ean Beag. This story, however, is not a part of that arc._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"What do you want for breakfast?"

Sloane Bishop opened her green and grey eyes and blinked up at Murphy MacManus, who was hovering over her with a mile-wide, crooked grin.

She hummed, closed her eyes, and stretched long and hard. Her back arched, dislodging the sheet and she heard Murphy clear his throat as the cold air of the flat pulled her nipples tight. She rubbed her thighs together. "Surprise me," Sloane purred.

"Nuh uh," Murphy smirked, swooping down to brush his lips over her collar bone, deliberately avoiding her breasts. "You decide. S'all about ya taday, Sloane."

"Pancakes," she decided without skipping a beat, her eyes still closed. Her fingers caught the thick dark hair at the back of his neck and pulled playfully.

"Hold dat thought," Murphy mumbled as he scrambled up to his feet and crossed to the kitchen.

Sloane heard cupboard doors banging and the fridge open before Murphy's voice floated back to her. "I think I can do dat," he informed. "But I don't know if we have syrup."

"Got lemon juice?" Sloane called from where she still waded in the sheets.

"Aye," Murphy called back after a quick check in the fridge.

"And sugar?"

"Yep," Murphy concluded.

"Then we're okay."

Murphy chuckled. "Oh, aye?"

"Aye," Sloane drawled, mocking the Irish brogue. "What time is it?"

"Uh…s'almost nine."

She cracked an eye open and rolled to her side, contemplating Connor's empty mattress. "Where's your better half?"

"Oi, watch what ya say, girl," he growled playfully.

"Sorry," Sloane apologized around a yawn. "Where's your older half?"

"Hey!" Murphy grunted, throwing a plastic measuring cup in her direction.

It pinged on the floor beside her head and Sloane snaked her hand out from under Murphy's blanket and grabbed it, inspecting it with curiosity. "What the hell is a pair of Irish brothers doing with measuring cups?"

Murphy was busy measuring flour, the tip of his tongue stuck in the corner of his mouth in concentration. "Don't know," he muttered. "Tink dey came wit' da place." He held up a whisk and turned to Sloane, waving it. "Most o'dis stuff did. Must have been Marta Stewart livin' here."

Sloane giggled, wrinkling her nose. "I do believe she would have done more to liven up the place." Sitting up, she grabbed the closest shirt she could, not knowing whether it was Murphy or Connor's, and not really caring, either. She sniffed it, decided it would have to do, and pulled it over her head. "Hanging clothes to dry, Murph – it's a good thing."

"Feck off," he pouted, turning back to his mixing bowl.

"How are you doing this without a recipe?" Sloane mused as she sidled behind the dark Irishman and set her chin on his shoulder. They were close to the same height, Sloane being but a scant inch or two shorter, and she wrapped her arms around his torso, snaking them under the apron he wore. "You look sexy in an apron, by the by," she whispered against his neck, placing a small kiss on a random freckle there.

Murphy shuddered and turned his head towards her, brushing his lips over her forehead. "Dat right?" he grinned. "An' I am followin' a recipe," he added. "It's in me head. Hand me dat Guinness, aye?"

Sloane snorted and reached one arm for the can as one arm continued to wrap Murphy's torso, her hand wandering up and down his chest and belly, tugging at the soft sprinkle of hair and snapping the elastic waist of his boxers before wiggling a fingertip in his belly button.

"Hey!" he squirmed as she mapped a decidedly ticklish spot. "Not while m'concentratin'," he scolded, slapping the back of her hand. She yelped, and shifted, pressing the hard little peaks of her breasts into his back through the thin cotton of the T shirt she wore.

Sloane snorted. "Right, because beer won't ruin your concentration."

"S'not fer me," Murphy sniffed, plucking the can from her fingers and cracking it open. He shot her another sly look over his shoulder before taking a healthy swig. He smirked at Sloane's noise of protest. "Okay, s'not _all_ fer me," he amended quickly. He handed it to her with the instructions of 'just a sip'.

She smiled and took a gulp, and then another before handing the can back and watching as Murphy measure out a cup and dumped it in the bowl he was fixing. Sloane burped, and then started to giggle, and Murphy joined her. "Ya have deplorable manners, girl," he chided.

"You put beer in the pancakes!" Was Sloane's retort.

"Aye…dat's how Ma makes 'em."

Sloane narrowed her eyes and gnawed gently on Murphy's shoulder blade. "For some reason, I believe that."

"She dyes 'em green on Saint Patty's," Murphy added, shifting pleasantly under the redhead's ministrations.

"Of course she does," Sloane said, yawning once more. She licked her lips. "Don't suppose there's another one of those hanging around here somewhere?"

Murphy paused his whisking and turned around in the circle of her arms, hooking his elbows over her shoulders. Sloane's giggles returned, taking in the sight of Murphy's dark hair stuck up in the front and on one side, and a dusting of flour through his stubble.

"Ya know, if'n ya keep laughin' at me, yer gonna give me a complex," he pointed out with a delectable pout.

"The only complex you're going to get is the notion that you're the orgasm leprechaun."

It was Murphy's turn to laugh, snorting and chuckling, before he buried his nose in her sweet and smoky smelling hair. With a gentle kiss below her ear, he breathed against her skin. "Ya smell like tha pub," he declared, drawing out the last word so it sounded more like 'poob."

"Really? And here I thought I smelled like dirty sex."

Murphy pulled back, his blue eyes narrowed in challenge. "Didn't hear ya complainin' last night."

"What do you think I was screaming and moaning for?"

Murphy growled lowly in his throat, a grin on his lips, and he dove in, making Sloane squeal and wiggle in his arms. His teeth caught her earlobe and he tugged gently like a misbehaved puppy. Every time her hips bumped his, he grunted; her thighs brushed against him as she twisted in his grip. "Mmm, keep wigglin', girl, drives me feckin' bananners."

With a scandalized huff, Sloane pushed him back and crossed her arms over her chest. Her lips quirked as she arched a delicate copper eyebrow, and finally she nodded to the counter behind Murphy. "Pancakes. Now. Or I'll get angry."

Murphy licked his lips. "Promise?"

Sloane chuckled darkly. "You won't like me when I'm angry."

Murphy scowled. "D'ya hulk out, den?"

Sloane's stomach rumbled on cue and she sneered. "Maybe." Still, her eyes twinkled with mischief.

Murphy shuffled closer, biting his bottom lip, and Sloane couldn't help but stare at the sight. He had a sinful mouth; you wouldn't think it just by looking at him, but the way those lips looked snagged between his teeth – or hers – or wrapped around a cigarette, or wet with whiskey or pulling into a pout or his crooked grin – made panties melt. When Murphy's lips were involved in anyway, Sloane was certain that she could hear females in a ten mile radius sigh.

"What does dat mean fer me?"

Sloane's gaze swept up to his eyes and saw the challenge there. "Discipline. Maybe punishment. You're not averse to a light spanking, are you, Murph?"

He swallowed thickly, the sound audible in the sudden stillness of the flat, and his pupils widened. His head faintly shook in the negative. "Only one woman has ever struck me on me backside," he said, "an' she's a good tree-tousand miles away."

Sloane winked. "Then she won't mind me taking over for a bit."

Murphy gave another sound, this one somewhere between a grunt and moan, and he shifted where he stood. A gentle blush bloomed on his cheeks and he scratched the back of his head nervously.

"What's wrong?" Sloane whispered with a gleam in her eye.

Murphy coughed, and then cleared his throat, and stared long and hard at his bare toes on the linoleum. When he finally lifted his head, there was a look of trepidation mixed with curiosity on his face. "M'I supposed ta be turned on by dis?"

Sloane chuckled, and her smiled widened, and certainly brightened. "Oh, Murph," she sighed, sliding her hand up his arm, over the ink on his muscles, to finally stroke along his amazing shoulder and curl into his dark hair once more. Pressing up on her toes, Sloane brought her lips to his, and touched his mouth softly with hers. "Let's have breakfast," she breathed, while her other hand slid down the front of his apron. When she encountered the obviously straining bulge of his cock beneath the stiff cotton, she licked her lips and cupped him firmly, rubbing the heel of her hand against him until his breath shuddered out in a choppy moan. With a smirk, her tongue flashed out and tasted his bottom lip, just a little flash of velvet on his skin. "After," Sloane finished thickly, "we'll go to my place for dessert."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Pitbullsrok, you write so I have something to look forward to reading! It gets boring reading and rereadnig my stuff...I need to hear someone else's voice! _

_I'd like to welcome new writers to this fandom and wish them all the best in their Boondock adventures...I've said it to a few of you, but beware! These boys are highly addictive!_

_For some reason, I'm really excited about my 33rd birthday on Friday...maybe it's because I share the birthday week with Norman Reedus (along with David Bowie, Jeremy Renner, Jimmy Page, Rasputin, and Rob Zombie)? Maybe it's because there's only an 11 year difference between us and it could still happen...in my warped little universe... _

_Anyway, here's another chapter...I'm trying my hand and making things simmer for a bit...let me know what your thoughts are. This fic does deal with light bondage and light S&M... Who doesn't want to see Murphy squirm?_

_PS - does anyone else think it's weird that there is fanfiction for Fifty Shades of Grey? I mean, that's fanfiction about fanfiction...it's like Meta Fanfiction..._

* * *

When the car had been parked in the underground garage and the ignition had been killed, Sloane put a stilling hand on Murphy's arm before he clambered out of the passenger seat.

"Wait," she said, before taking a deep breath.

Murphy tilted his head and his lips curled with curiosity. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing's wrong. I just…I just need to make sure that I can trust you. And you need to trust me."

His mirth bubbled over with a laugh he tried to smother. "Jayzus, Mary, n'Joseph, woman, what are ya plannin' on doin' with me?"

Her eyes turned level and solemn. "I'm going to share something with you, Murphy, a part of me that not too many people know about. And, if you're willing, you're going to share something with me, a part of you that you probably don't even know about."

Intrigued, he sat back and tilted his head, levelling a serious gaze onto her. He licked his lips. "This have anything to do with what we talked about earlier?"

"We talked about lots of things earlier," she pointed out playfully.

"You said you didn't care if yer pancakes were burned," he dished back.

"Cheeky," she murmured. "I didn't want to hurt your feelings," she shrugged. "They were awful."

"So, what, yer gonna tan me hide for burnin' breakfast?" he chuckled with an eye roll. He moved to open the door again hand already on the latch.

Her hand curled tightly around his bicep. "Murphy."

He looked to her eyes, pale jade surrounded by a storm of gray. Her features were a veneer of patience and control, but the heat in her eyes was unmistakable. "Aye?" he rasped hoarsely. He saw her shift in her seat, her head tilting ever so slightly, and Murphy had a flash of himself, 12 years old, standing in the Dublin zoo at the tiger habitat. Connor had dashed off across the walk to the lions, but Murphy had been frozen in spot while a lone tiger rose from where it sprawled in the sun to stalk towards the adolescent boy in black jeans and a blue hooded sweatshirt.

Sloane was looking at him like that, right now. The only difference was, it was twenty years later and Sloane was one of the brightest, sexiest women he'd ever met. It was safe to say that she wanted to devour him, but he was getting the feeling he'd like it. He straightened his shoulders and leaned towards her, flexing his arm tightly beneath her grip. He'd tried a lot of things in the last fifteen years, but what Sloane was probably suggesting wasn't something he'd encountered. "What do ya want ta do ta me?"

Warm, liquid arousal flooded her between her hips and as she turned to him, the fabric of her tank top scraped across her bare nipples. His question was asked darkly, and demurely, and it made Sloane tingle. "I want to make you mine," she said. "I want you like you had me last night: willing to do anything."

His eyes never left hers as he repeated the words in his head. He shifted slightly, keenly aware that his jeans were growing both too hot and too tight. His fingers curled into his palms and then flexed out again. She was serious. It was a heady feeling, to be wanted that badly.

His next move was smooth and quick, catching her off guard as his lips pressed to hers with pressure and purpose. When he'd pulled back but a few inches, his eyes searched her face. "Show me what ta do," he murmured

* * *

"You seem surprised," Sloane announced over the spray of the shower.

Murphy shrugged and leaned back, soaking his hair and scrubbing his hands over his face. "Just didn't expect this."

Sloane smiled and grabbed a fluffy looking scrubber and doused it with a spicy-sweet smelling gel. Working a lather in her hands, she explained. "Want to get you clean before we get dirty. Hands behind your head."

He paused at her order, but afforded her with a smirk before complying. That look flooded back into her eyes, that one that said she'd suck the marrow from his bones if she could, and it made him shiver. Standing in the shower with his hands behind his head left him open, vulnerable, the most tender places of his body exposed to whatever she had planned.

She noticed a slight tremor in his belly as she swept her gaze over his body. Rivulets of water ran down the pale, lean planes of his chest and slid through the dark hair that started sparsely below his navel and framed his maleness. She stepped into his space, their noses inches apart and her warm, soap-slicked breasts pressing against his chest. When she felt his cock stir against her thigh, she smirked up at him.

"Easy, Irish," she murmured. She swiped the scrubber up his chest and out in circles over his pecs before winding around his throat. He groaned, making her smile. "You like that?" she purred.

His eyes closed and he nodded, tilting his chin up to give her better access. "Mmm hmm," he replied.

She swiped suds over his shoulders, lingering there, and then stepped closer to him and rubbed the sponge up and down the back of his neck. Her head tilted up, watching his expression, and seconds later his arms dropped and she felt his hands skim over her hips and try to drag her closer.

Her soapy skin felt amazing under his callused hands, but as he curved his fingertips down and between her ass cheeks, she reached behind her, catching his wrist and squeezing firmly. He blinked water from his eyes and looked back to her face, finding her watching him with cool interest.

"Did I say you could move your arms?"

He grinned boyishly, knowing that his charm worked wonders on the female persuasion and that Sloane was no exception. "Ah, c'mon, woman," he grunted, the pads of his fingers lingering at the very top of the cleft of her ass. He swept them up and down once; he had learned Sloane's hot spots early on. This was one of his favourite.

She grunted in response, shifting on her toes and tightening her hold on his wrist. "I think we need to go over a few ground rules," she admitted, stepping back out of Murphy's space. "Turn around."

He licked his lips and narrowed his eyes playfully, but obeyed, and turned his back to her. The water pounded against his chest. Sloane's long, slim fingers wrapped up into the thick hair at the back of his neck and pulled back until his head was angled back, his eyes meeting hers from over his shoulder.

"Hands on the wall." She watched as he settled into position, and then stepped behind him once more. This time, she arched her hips, pressing her pelvis into his buttocks, and she knew he could feel the spongy scratch of the curls between her legs as they scraped over his sensitive skin. She heard him inhale sharply and she placed a warning hand on his hip. "Stay still." The hand in his hair moved again, turning his head forward. "Eyes to the front."

The press of her fingers digging into his thigh caused loose waves of electricity to rush up and down his legs. She was practically grinding her pussy into his backside, and yet she seemed almost unaffected by it and by him. Her free hand came up and planted itself over one of his still pressed to the wall, and she slid up behind him, onto her toes, her breasts gliding along his back, dragging the hand from his hip up the middle of his chest.

That hand splayed there, and slid back down over slick skin, lighting a path of sensation between his sternum and navel. Every pass she slid a bit closer to where he wanted her to touch him; her fingers grazed through the dark hair between his thighs and brushed up against his half-hard cock. A strangled breath rose up from his lungs and Sloane froze, her mouth mere inches from his ear.

"Do you want me to touch you, Murphy?"

She felt his muscles contract where she was pressed against him. His belly went taut. Her fingertips skated down and came into contact with his arousal, steadily rising, and hot and thick. She stroked up along his shaft once and then stopped, catching his earlobe between her teeth.

"Answer me," she rasped before biting down into the soft morsel of flesh.

"Ah, _fuck_," he growled, arching his hips towards her hand. She moved at that exact moment, like she knew he was going to move, try and get her hands on him, and he growled in frustration.

"That's not an answer, Murphy," Sloane sang sweetly. Her tongue glided up the edge of his ear. "Yes or no: do you want me to touch you?"

"Aye," he muttered, hissing as her fingers fluttered over the tip of his cock and pushed the foreskin down over his glans.

Her thumb swept firm and broad over the head of his cock, just once, and she heard his toes squeak against the porcelain of the shower floor. Biting her lip, she left his cock and curved her hand back over his hip until it rested on his buttock. She flicked her wrist and connected with the pert flesh, and a small _snap_ resounded in the steamy space, making Murphy yelp and then chuckle nervously.

"What was tha' for?" he murmured, turning his head to look her in the eye.

"Eyes forward," she gently reminded him, squeezing the offended ass cheek. Her hand wound its way back between his thighs, this time holding him at the base in a tight grip. He sucked in a breath and from her position behind him, she watched his jaw tense. "When you speak to me, or answer a question, you _will_ call me 'Mistress'."

This caused Murphy to chortle, but it soon died as her hand moved away from his cock. Steeling his nerves, he relented. "Aye, all right."

Sloane cleared her throat. "Aye, what, Murphy?" Her hand squeezed him again and slowly began to drag up the length of his cock.

He bit his lips at her maddening touch. "Aye, Mistress," he choked out.

Sloane hummed her approval and rewarded him with half a dozen languid strokes. Sometimes her fingers cupped his balls, weighing them, and sometimes they slid back over his hips and buttocks. His head rolled back over his shoulders and he moaned low in his throat. His hips jerked forward.

"Don't move," she reminded him. "I don't want you to come yet. Do you want to come right now?"

"Does tha pope wear a funny hat?" Murphy hissed as her thumb worked its way against the slit at the head of his cock.

She stilled her hand again, this time squeezing the tip of him rhythmically. "Does the pope wear a funny hat, what?"

The groan he heaved this time was borne of frustration and agitation. "_Mistress_," he growled.

"Glad to see you still have a sense of humour." She pushed up onto her toes again and suddenly, her hand was fisting him roughly, her strokes quick and purposeful. Her teeth tugged at his ear, her tongue swiping at the spot just behind his earlobe.

Any smart-assed reply he had prepared died on his tongue as Sloane stroked his cock, squeezing along the length and rubbing the tip, just the way he liked it. Her free hand clamped over his hip like iron and she held him in place. The friction on his cock was slick, hot, and Murphy began to pant as pleasure rolled up his spine.

"Don't come," Sloane suddenly purred in his ear, and Murphy whimpered softly. "If you come now, the game will be over and I still want to play." She sounded like a spoiled child, but Murphy could only nod at her request.

His teeth dug into the sides of his tongue as Sloane's hand began to slow once more, until only her fingertips brushed against him. He heard the shower door slide back, followed by a cool rush of air, and his head snapped to the side to see Sloane on the other side of the glass, her image foggy from steam. He gulped in a breath and moved one of his hands from the wall, sliding it down his chest.

"I wouldn't do that," Sloane called from where she wrapped a towel around her torso. When she heard the frustrated huff he let out, she chuckled. "I won't leave you unsatisfied, Murphy. I'm not that cruel. Finish up – with the _shower_ – and come to the bedroom."

He swallowed against the dryness in his mouth and let out a shuddering sigh as he glanced down. She'd left him hard, aching painfully, and leaking at the tip. Squeezing his eyes shut, Murphy concentrated on footie scores and the old meat maps in the lunchroom from the plant so many years ago. When his skin was no longer crawling, when he could take a breath and not want to burst, he scrubbed quickly, avoiding his balls and shaft as much as he could – just a touch would probably have him blowing his load like a teenager. As an added precaution, he cranked the cold water over, and closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down.

He had a feeling he'd need every ounce of strength he could muster if was going to keep up with what Sloane had in store for him.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Val, I believe it's 'wringer'. Remember when I said something a few fics back about riding Murphy hard and putting him away wet? Tee hee...I'm half certain of where this is all stemming from and it's so much fun to write him like this...usually, those boys just take and take and take, and those oc's let them. _

_Thanks for all the faves / subscriptions / reviews. Enjoy. If you don't hear from me for a few days, don't be alarmed, I'm most likely recovering from a mercury overdose. All you can eat sushi tonight, which ties in perfectly with my next installment of Ean Beag...which is coming shortly..._

* * *

Sloane had been wet and tingling with desire the moment Murphy stripped down in the bathroom. His obstinate nature was a challenge; seeing him worked up with no place to go was her reward. She trailed to the bedroom, hanging her towel up, the sound of the shower running in the background. Gods and Goddesses, he had looked so good, wet, hard, crawling out of his skin…Sloane closed her eyes, pressing her thighs together, as a warm beat of lust sprung low in her belly. She found purchase on one post of her four-poster bed, and leaned her forehead against the cool wood. Her other hand brushed over her breasts, over the warm and damp skin of her belly, to finally settle between her thighs. Clambering to the bed, she balanced on her knees on the edge of the mattress, and found the very tip of her clit with her fingers.

As she slid through the hot slickness of her pussy, her mind conjured all the sinful images of Murphy that it could muster: that cocky grin, the broad line of his shoulders, his almond shaped eyes, the way his hands had pushed and pulled her to his liking last night and that wicked mouth and tongue that was just as devastating rolling roughly with that Irish brogue as it was when he said absolutely nothing at all. With every thought, her fingers fluttered against her clit, circling, rubbing, pinching and rolling. On a dare, she slipped her middle finger down and teased her tight entrance, tracing the edges while hot and cold flashed over her skin.

White knuckled, her fingers curled around the bed post as she sank her finger further, and thought of Murphy's hands, his fingers, his _tongue_, instead of her own hand. Somewhere, she heard the creak of hardwood, and then a soft rustling. She wasn't alone, not anymore, and the very object of her desire stood in the doorway, watching her.

If the shower surprised him, the scene before him now made him a gaping idiot. Was she trying to kill him? Hail Mary, she was an evil hell bitch, perched there on her knees with her back to him, her hips swaying softly as one hand searched between her thighs. The soft light from the window peeked through the space between her legs and made the skin shine with her obvious arousal. He could practically smell it on the air. A breathy sigh escaped her; he could have sworn he heard his name, too, and as he took a step forward, Sloane turned her head and looked up at him from under her lashes.

Her copper hair was curling damply along her forehead and the nape of her neck, and a light sheen of sweat had formed on her upper lip. With her bottom lip pulled up between her teeth, she was positively sinful. Her left shoulder jerked and her hips shuddered a split second later while she moaned in her throat. When he took another step forward, she keened and shook her head.

"Don't move," she panted, as the hand between her thighs sped up even more. "Just watch me," she urged, rising up on her knees a little higher.

Her torso twisted, and he saw one pert breast and the pebbled nipple straining in the cool air of the bedroom. Her toes curled into the sheets beneath her. Dropping her chin to her chest, the tip of her tongue slid along her upper lip. She searched deeper with her finger, and then changed to short, choppy strokes, concentrating on the front wall, digging along that place that made her mindless.

Murphy clutched the doorframe, the wood of it creaking under the strain, and watched with wide eyes. She was _definitely_ trying to kill him. She was a tease, a wanton little slut, and it took every ounce of control not to pounce. He had a feeling it would be frowned upon. But the more she fingered herself, the louder the blood pounded in his ears. Said blood then sailed south, and the erection he'd tamped down in a cold shower was back with a vengeance, absurdly tenting the towel around his hips. He let out a sharp breath. "_Sloane_," he warned darkly.

She was too far gone to correct him on the use of her name, and instead she concentrated on his obvious state of arousal. Even from her spot on the bed she could see that his blue eyes were almost black with lust, and that his cock was rising beautifully beneath the Egyptian cotton towel hanging off of his slim hips. "Ah, fuck, Murphy," she moaned, shaking her damp curls out. "I'm gonna come, baby," she warned thinly, arching her hips and pushing deeper.

He could move. He couldn't speak. He could only stare as his balls tightened and tingled, Sloane working herself into a lather less than ten feet away. Mutely, he nodded, his fingers digging into the wood of the doorframe. He started to sweat. He rocked up onto the balls of his feet, his hips jerking shamelessly in time with hers as his free hand swept over his belly.

"Don't," she whimpered. "Don't do anything but watch." Her voice trailed off as her shoulders hunched.

Seconds later, she tensed, arching back, her spine twisting, her perfect ass clenching, as a hot moan sailed up from her throat and punched Murphy in the guts. "_Fuck_!" she swore sharply, rubbing herself through her orgasm and into the aftershocks. Her voice warbled and rambled, cursing, chanting his name, even as she became boneless and sagged against the post that her hand still clutched.

Her chin rested on her shoulder; her panting was the only sound in the room, though Murphy could have sworn his heartbeat drowned it out. When she'd caught her breath, her long lashes fluttered and her eyes opened, zeroing in on Murphy. She winced as she pulled her hand from between her thighs, and stood on shaking legs. Stretching her muscles, she turned to Murphy, smiling languidly.

She approached, and blew out a breath, ruffling the copper locks that fell over her face. "Whew," she sighed, before she stopped and drew her middle finger – the one still wet with her taste – up between her lips and sucked soundly. "Thanks for waiting. I needed that." She winked and then turned her attention to the almost vibrating steel of his cock, pushing past the folds of the towel in a vain attempt to be near her. Clucking her tongue in pity, she glanced up at Murphy and smiled sweetly.

"You won't be needing this," she purred, tugging at the edge of the towel and drawing it from his body. He hissed as the rough cotton scored across his over sensitized skin; she let it drop unceremoniously and raked her eyes over him. "Perfect," she breathed, still coming down from her orgasm. There was a wicked gleam in her eyes as she cocked an eyebrow up at Murphy. "I think I want you on your knees."

* * *

He'd been waiting, balanced on his knees on the hardwood floor, for almost twenty minutes. Behind him, he could hear Sloane rustling around in her closet, but she said nothing, and he had the feeling he was supposed to stay relatively silent, too. And still. She'd told him not to move with a steady glare and he'd only nodded, arranging himself on his knees, with his hands clasped at the small of his back, like she directed him. The water from the shower was still drying on his skin, causing him to itch and it was almost maddening. Almost. His thoughts wandered to her perched on the bed, finger fucking herself into a glorious mess, panting and moaning his name, writhing there and making him just fucking _watch_. He felt a sharp stirring in his groin and bit his lip as his traitorous cock started to ache and then rise. Footie scores and a million Hail Marys rattled his brain as he fought with his body. Then, the sure steady hammering of high heels brought him back to the present.

"Do you know why you're being punished, Murphy?"

His head nodded, and out of habit he looked up, setting his eyes on Sloane who stood over him, hip cocked out, her long, lean torso wrapped in black lace and champagne silk. She clicked her tongue, shaking her head once, and reached out, flicking his ear with a sharp thumb and forefinger.

"Eyes forward," she reminded him. "And I can't hear your head nod," she added icily. "I'll ask again, and I recommend you answer me properly."

"Aye, Mistress," he husked quickly, his eyes snapping to the floor.

She had to smile at that. She knew he'd never say 'yes' – it was like the word didn't exist in his vocabulary. She'd let him get away with 'aye'. It was, after all, rather cute. "Do you know why you're being punished, Murphy?" Her sure steps in her black heels steered her so that she stood behind him, admiring the broad line of his shoulders and the straight curve of his back. His scrumptious bare ass rested on his heels, his toes tucked under his feet.

"Because I burned your pancakes," he answered. "Mistress," he added at the end before she could retaliate.

"And why did you burn the pancakes?"

Murphy licked his lips and fought the urge to look up at her. She was glad for it – the words he said next were likely to burn her up if paired with that smouldering blue gaze. "Because I just couldn't wait ta shove me cock in dat pretty little pussy o'yers, Mistress."

Sloane held her breath until her heart rate slowed, and she let the air out slowly so that it wouldn't shudder with need as she did so. Images of a cloud of flour settling over Murphy's broad shoulders as he ploughed into her while she was balanced on the counter flooded her mind; she remembered him licking sugar from her collarbone and the undersides of her breasts while the smell of burning pancake batter filled the air.

Her hands tightened into fists, her nails digging into her palms so that she concentrated on the sharp sting rather than the rolling waves of pleasure that threatened to drown her. When she could speak again, she continued, ignoring the sudden surge of heat and wetness that began to pool between her thighs. She _thought_ she'd taken the edge off before, but she should have known better. It only took a well timed touch or precise string of words from Murphy and suddenly, she was pushed right to the point of delirium again. She shook her head, clearing the cobwebs.

"Very good," she barely managed without croaking. "But this goes beyond punishment. Do you know why you're here, on you knees, before me?" She moved again, this time to face him, and she reached a firm hand out, cupping his jaw and pushing his head back. "Look at me," she ordered gently. When his eyes found hers, she felt a warm stab of pleasure in her belly. Lords above, he had expressive eyes. And right now, he was somewhere between petulant and resigned, a look only Murphy possessed. "Do you know," she continued, letting her eyes wander over his naked shoulders, down his chest and torso, to the steadily rising erection between his thighs, "why you're naked and hard?" She looked back to his face to find his eyes had never left hers.

"Because yer a right kinky bitch?" He answered smartly. "Mistress."

Sloane slipped character slightly and rolled her eyes. "I think we've established that, Murph. C'mon, you said you'd let me have my way with you. Play along, please?"

Murphy shifted on his knees and winced. "My knees are killin' me, woman," he whined.

Sloane pouted. "Poor baby. Want me to make it better?"

"Aye," he nodded.

Sloane narrowed her eyes. " 'Aye', what, Murphy?"

"Aye, Mistress," he smirked.

She scowled again. "You're so lucky my cat o'nine is being repaired." She shoved the pointy toe of her high heel between his thighs and rested it against his balls, making him suck in a quick breath. Leaning forward, she afforded him a healthy glimpse of her cleavage and clutched the hair at the back of his neck. That made his grin fade, but he hissed and rolled his head into her touch, and came up slightly off of his heels. She then moved in close enough that the inside of her thigh was pressed against one cheek. She heard a low growl from his chest, and his eyes fluttered shut momentarily.

She clucked her tongue again. "Do you want to fuck me, Murphy?"

His blue eyes snapped open, boring right into her. "Aye, Mistress," he answered right away.

His hot breath so close to her pussy it made her twitch.

"Then you're going to have to play nice, all right?"

"Aye, Mistress," Murphy answered again, his eyes wide and dark.

Sliding her fingers from his hair, she crouched down in one smooth movement and let her lace clad ass bounce on his thigh as she dragged her fingertips up the underside of his now straining erection. "Do you know why you're naked, and hard, and on your knees?"

Murphy's hips twisted, trying desperately to increase the pressure of her touch, but she drew away with a small chuckle. He pouted, and then blinked and nodded. "Because it's what you want, Mistress," he answered.

Sloane smiled brightly. "Good boy." She pressed a quick kiss to his top lip and stood again. Tilting her head, she drew her fingertips along her hips, skimming the waistband of the black lace boy shorts, and then slid them up her torso, along her abdomen until she cupped her breasts and drew faint circles over her nipples with her thumbs. She could see Murphy practically salivating, and she pursed her lips together in thought. "Now then. What's your favourite part of me?"

Murphy's gaze never fell from hers, though he wanted desperately to take it all in. When she'd appeared in her bedroom wearing the black lace getup, paneled with nude silk, he'd wanted nothing more than to bury his face between her breasts, and then between her thighs, with the bra and panty set blocking his way as he licked and sucked and bit at her. The shoes she wore only served to make her already impossibly long legs longer, and they were naked, no stockings to speak of. He'd chew on those legs for days, if given permission. He took a breath. "Permission to speak frankly, Mistress?"

Sloane nodded encouragingly. "I expect nothing more. I want your honesty, Murphy. It's one of your best features."

"Your legs," Murphy promptly answered.

She let him get away without calling her 'Mistress', and instead urged him to continue. "Explain."

"I've never been wit' a girl…er…_woman_," he corrected when the term 'girl' brought a dangerously raised eyebrow, "dat's been almost as tall as me. Fair ta say I like it. Like bein' able ta look inta yer eyes and see everyting dere. Like havin' yer legs wrapped around me waist… 'round me neck… 'round mine while we sleep. Long, and perfectly lovely, Mistress," he continued. "An', I like yer legs, Mistress, because dey make such a fine arse of themselves." He shot her a cocky grin.

She flashed a pretty smile. "Very good," she praised. "You may stand."

He was up in a flash, and she held his gaze with hers for a spell. "On the bed, please," she decided, nodding behind him to where her four poster bed sat.

He grinned widely and scrambled to the mattress, settling onto his back, his arms folded beneath his head and his feet crossed at the ankles. His cock still jutted up, curving back towards his belly. Sloane had to sigh fondly at his eagerness. She crossed to the tall chest of drawers and pulled the top drawer open, digging around for a moment.

"If yer lookin' fer tha rest of that get-up," Murphy called out, "it's all in vain. Doubt there's much left to that."

Sloane glanced back at him from over her shoulder, her fingers settling on the objects she had been searching for. She pulled them out and spun on her heels. Slowly, she walked to the bed, each beat of her high heels in time with her pulse. Murphy looked positively…_insolent_ with the way he was sprawled back so comfortably. She chuckled lightly and perched on the edge of the bed, watching Murphy's eyes devour every inch of her body. His eyes widened as he spied the items in her hands, and a dark eyebrow crept up as he sat up just a little bit.

"What's that?" he asked thickly.

"Just a few odds and ends," Sloane began. "Silk rope. Blindfold." She held each item up one by one as she named them, liking the way Murphy squirmed under her scrutiny and turned a lovely shade of pink.

"We'll start small," Sloane continued. Still, he looked wary. Breaking her façade, she smiled sweetly at Murphy. "It's all right, you know…we don't have to…"

"I want to," Murphy blurted out. He frowned, glancing away, as if he wasn't quite sure what he had just said. But then seconds later, his burning blue gaze fell back to her and he nodded once. "I trust ya."

"I'm glad," Sloane answered. She held up the rope. "Give me your hand."


	4. Chapter 4

"Aren't ya supposed ta tie me up to a cross or somethin'? Maybe chain me to tha wall?" He peeked up over his bicep and grinned cheekily.

"You know, if you were an actual slave, I'd beat you black and blue and then find you something constructive to do with that mouth," Sloane quipped from where she rummaged around in her chest of drawers. Still, she grinned fondly as she looked back at him. "Do you _want_ me to chain you to the wall?"

Murphy tugged at the bonds currently holding him and affected a shrug as best he could. "This will do fer now."

Sloane gave him a pointed look.

"_Mistress_," Murphy added quickly. He raised his head as she withdrew something from the top drawer and swung it around. "What's that?"

Sloane glanced at the object in her hand. "This? This is a silk flogger." She approached the bed and held it out for him to see. Murphy's blazing blue eyes ran up and down the wide, blunt handle wrapped in braided black silk. "This is the striking end," Sloane explained, running her fingers through the soft, feathered ends of the silk strands.. She tapped her jaw with the handle, tilting her head at Murphy.

He squirmed under her gaze, feeling decidedly eye fucked. Jayzus, Mary, n'Joseph, _who_ was this girl

She'd seen Murphy in numerous positions, in countless predicaments, but at that very moment, Sloane was certain she'd never seen him look so…delectable. He'd let her secure his hands to the two posts at the head of the bed, and then she'd stretched him out so that all the long, lean lines of muscle stood out in the dim light of the room. His feet were bound, too, though it took a little more convincing and perhaps another shot or two of whiskey before Murphy took to the idea of being completely at Sloane's mercy.

She licked her lips, her cool, glacial eyes running the length of his body once more. He squirmed, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth, and another one of those lovely-but-not-oft-seen blushes crept over his pale skin. She'd counted freckles on his shoulders as she bound his hands, and she'd discovered he was ticklish in the dip of his hips and the arches of his feet. He'd been quiet, though, never voicing a word, merely catching his breath as she tightened a knot, or stifling a groan as her fingertips lingered too long, too closely.

"You look good like this," Sloane began conversationally. She smirked as Murphy cocked a wary eyebrow towards her.

"Ya mean trussed up like a game hen?" He wiggled his toes for good measure. "Yer really limitin' my abilities, lass. I thought _I_ was supposed ta please _you_?"

Sloane tilted her head and approached him, crawling up the foot of the bed and up the length of his body until she sat on his upper thighs. "Oh Murphy," she purred as she went. "You do please me – you _are_ pleasing me."

His face folded in confusion. "I don't see how," he drawled.

Sloane almost laughed at the insolence in his tone and the veritable pout on his mouth. She steeled her features, though, and sat back onto Murphy's thighs, resting her hands on his hips. "Because you're at my mercy," she whispered hotly.

He bucked beneath her; a small movement, but enough that she moved up with him as he did so. While his erection had lost some potency during her knot tying, with this last admission, she watched as the half-hard length of him twitched. Her eyes sailed to his and her mouth ran dry at the lust steaming in those blue depths. "Do you like being at my mercy?"

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and he fought to remain still as her warm buttocks pressed against his naked thighs. "I don't know yet," he answered, soft and truthful.

Sloane nodded reassuringly and twirled the flogger in her hands. Murphy shifted again, but she could feel the static charge of nervous energy. Shushing him, she simply drew the ends of the flogger down the center of his chest, eliciting a surprised hum from the man beneath her.

"I'm not into tickle-torture, if that's what you're worried about," she let him know.

Murphy chuckled, and the sound fizzled as Sloane swiped the flogger up his flank and then down the inside of his arm to his wrist. "Good," he croaked. "Cuz I can't guarantee that I won't laugh so hard I piss meself."

"Noted," Sloane grinned. "If I do something that you don't like…or you're unsure of, you need to let me know. The only way to do that is with a safe word."

"Can't I just tell ya ta stop?"

Sloane shook her head, weaving a delicate pattern behind Murphy's ear with the flogger. His fingers curled around the ropes holding him and he stretched his neck, rolling his head into her touch. "Sometimes 'stop' doesn't mean stop," Sloane continued. "We need a word that you wouldn't normally say in this type of situation. It can be anything. A fruit. A city. The name of your fourth grade teacher."

"O'Shea?"

Sloane thought about it. "Sounds too much like 'Oh shit'. And, if I recall, I've heard you shout that a few times…"

"Birmingham."

"Birmingham?" Sloane repeated.

Murphy nodded. "Aye."

"All right." She shifted back a little and focused on his pelvic area. God, he really was gorgeous. She hadn't seen _a lot_ of naked men, but she'd seen her share, and Murphy was pleasing to look at _everywhere_. She flicked the flogger across his hipbone with the tiniest snap at the end. "The lightest touch can sometimes cause the greatest sensation. Do you like this?" She drew the flogger back, traced his navel, and slid it along his other hip.

Murphy swallowed again and nodded. "Aye, Mistress."

"Good boy," Sloane cooed. She shifted back again, hovering up on her knees so that she could shift Murphy's legs apart. The flogger drew up the inside of his thigh and his leg twitched, the muscle flexing. "And this?" The silk ghosted over the soft skin of his balls before disappearing.

"Aye, Mistress," he croaked once more.

With a flick of her wrist, the flogger gently licked up the length of his shaft and Murphy hissed and strained beneath her, his head arching back to the pillow as his eyelids fluttered. Sloane felt the deep burn of arousal in the pit of her belly and between her thighs. He was beautiful. "Should I keep going?" she murmured.

"Yes," he hissed hotly. His fingers twisted the knots of his bindings. "Please, Mistress," he added softly, almost bashfully.

"Anything that happens here stays here, Murphy, unless you say otherwise."

He nodded, eyes still closed, head still pressed back into the pillow.

"Answer me, please," Sloane demanded softly.

"Aye, Mistress."

The flogger traced up from his pelvis and skated along his chest again, drawing more patterns along his belly and sternum, until she reached his pectorals. A sparse sprinkling of dark hair was there, and she drew the silk in small circles until she was brushing around the dusky brown peak of one flat male nipple. A small, strangled noise caught in Murphy's throat and Sloane glanced up, pleased that his eyes were open to half mast and he was watching with rapt attention. His hair was mussed, damp with sweat, and his mouth hung half open as he panted. Moving the flogger, she rasped the ends of it over his nipple again and again. His hips twisted and when she looked down, her suspicions were confirmed with the return of a raging hard on. It was these little things about a man, the tiny nuances that turned him on, made him wild, made him _hers_, that inspired Sloane, and finding Murphy's pleasure centers only caused her arousal to climb steeply.

She switched to his other nipple, flicking her wrist and snapping the ends against the very tip of the pebbled flesh. A hoarse, sharp moan split Murphy's lips and his cock bounced, straining back, flushed darkly with blood and heat. At the tip, a tiny, clear drop of fluid leaked out, and when Sloane flicked the flogger sharply over his nipple again, his shaft practically pulsed and brought forth another surge of slickness. She had to bite back a moan, press her thighs together. He was so responsive, and so willing to let her do this for him.

"Am I pleasing you, Murphy?"

"Only if it pleases ya, Mistress," he blurted out. A wave of sharp arousal washed over him and his eyes squeezed shut as he dropped back against the pillow.

She snapped the flogger against his nipple again, and then switched to the other. She moved quickly, back and forth, until Murphy was straining against the ropes and his teeth were dug into his bottom lip. Sloane relented then, only to sit back and trail soft silk strands over his abused flesh.

"If I keep going, will you come?"

"I…" he choked on his words as hers sank into his ears. Hail Mary, she was the devil! He didn't know how, and he didn't know why, but just the very thought of her making him come like this made his brain melt and his blood pound in his ears.

Her next words fell against his ear, her breath warm against him, and he felt the press of her breasts against his chest, crushing the feather between them. "Do you want to come, Murphy?"

His traitorous body shook his head 'no', even though his brain and his balls screamed 'yes, by Christ, and for the love of all things holy, let me come!'.

Suddenly, her warmth, her softness, her scent, was gone and Murphy shivered and opened his eyes wide. She stood next to the bed, the tops of her breasts and her cheekbones pink and dewy. Clutched in her fist was the blindfold, and she unfurled her fingers to let the length of it drop down. "Do you still trust me, Murphy?"

His thighs tensed as his hips bucked again. "Aye," he answered hoarsely.

Sloane smiled softly. "Don't move."


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Sooo...things kinda tip over into dirty, hot, raunchiness, akin to 'H2Whoa'..._

* * *

"Holy shit," he warbled mindlessly. The slippery heat of her mouth covered him, sucking a little too roughly, only to be soothed by a wicked tongue. She'd been swallowing his cock for a good ten minutes, starting off painstakingly slow and teasing, only kisses, soft touches, lingering tongue. Then, it was as if someone threw a switch, and she moved faster, in a blur of spit and skin.

Arousal crawled through his veins, scorching, agonizing, and as he watched Sloane's fingers circle the base of his raging erection, he couldn't help the hot moan that slipped from his throat. Jesus, he sounded slutty. He felt himself blush for what felt like the millionth time that afternoon. His toes curled and he began to pant softly, feeling his balls start to tighten.

Then, swiftly and suddenly, Sloane squeezed hard, pressing against the thick vein that ran up his shaft, pressing her thumb into the space where his balls met his shaft. That clever tongue, soft, wicked, plump like velvet, curled out and around the embarrassingly purple head of his cock, lapping up the precum as she milked it out of him. It was possibly the dirtiest, sluttiest, _hottest_ things he'd ever seen and he went cross eyed as he gulped a breath and felt the painful crest of his arousal passing. He whimpered as her fingers loosened, and he watched with hazy, unfocused eyes as Sloane sat back and delicately wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb.

His cock looked angry. She glanced into his eyes. He looked murderous, even through the thick fog of lust surrounding him. It made her smirk, and she gave a little snorting laugh before leaning to the bedside and snagging something off of the table. She held it up for his inspection: a simple, black leather strap with a snap closure. It was no longer than four inches, and she looked at it thoughtfully, before turning back to Murphy.

"Do you know what this is?"

Murphy opened his mouth to speak, but croaked instead. He licked his lips and, after clearing his throat, tried again. "No, Mistress. But I have a feeling you'll tell me?"

Sloane reached down to Murphy's cock, already winding the leather around the base. "How about I show you?"

Her fingers moved fast, and Murphy heard a little metallic _click_ before he felt numbing pleasure slowly start to crawl up the length of his cock. He sucked a long breath in through his teeth, closing his eyes and finally grunting as Sloane gave a little tug to the strap.

He felt unbelievably heavy as she wrapped both hands around him, stroking firmly, up and then down. A whine floated up from his lips that made her insides burn. "I love your cock, Murphy. Have I ever told you that?"

He whimpered again and shook his head once. "No," he gulped. He sucked in another breath, only to have it cut off as her thumbs dug up on the underside of his glans, massaging slow, deep circles. The ropes that held him pulled taut and Sloane heard the creak of wood and the crack of his jaw as he opened and closed his mouth wordlessly.

It was painfully good, and Murphy's dick _throbbed_, causing him to squirm. He'd begun to sweat, and he became very aware of the tiny, breathy moans coming from his own mouth.

"Murphy," Sloane called, and the slowly, his blood began to cool.

"Oh my god," he groaned sharply. "What tha _feck_ are ya doin' ta me, woman?"

Sloane gave him an icy smile and swiftly flicked the quivering head of Murphy's cock. He jumped beneath her, just like she'd hoped. Gleaming with sweat and panting, wild eyed, Murphy looked stun-fucked. "Mistress." He grinned.

Sloane squirmed all over his lap, just like _he'd_ hoped. She was still playful, and Murphy wondered briefly how far she had ever let it go, and how far she'd let it go with _him_. He took a breath and stared at her from beneath his brows. With a small movement, he bucked softly, and they bounced together firmly. "Permission to speak freely, Mistress?"

She rolled her hips down, biting her bottom lip as Murphy's eyes snared hers. She knew that look – the one that said he wanted to take control of the situation. Indulging him, she answered with a shrug. "Granted," she breathed.

Murphy gave a small tick of his head, flicking his dark hair from his eyes. "When I get outta these ropes," he purred, "I'm goin' ta fuck ya. Good an' hard."

Oh, he was good. Very, very good. As man of few words, Murphy had the unrivalled ability of, using ten words or less, making a woman come apart at the seams. Sloane wouldn't deny the heavy warmth that settled between her thighs as his throaty baritone word fucked her from behind.

She needed to cool off, or this would be over before she wanted it to be. She wasn't an idiot, she knew perfectly well the things Murphy was capable of doing – and that he never backed down on his words.

Her gaze swung back to his, and she licked her lips. One delicate eyebrow slid upwards. "I think that you need to cool off." With a quick, graceful movement, she'd slid from his lap to the floor.

* * *

She'd left him sometime ago, although behind the blackness of the blindfold, Murphy couldn't be sure if five minutes or five hours had passed. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears. Beneath him, the sheets were soft, though warm, against his naked back, and he shifted, feeling his muscles protest at being held in one position for an extended period of time. The rabid erection she had worked out of him had fizzled, almost painfully, but the ache was good, and he was actually turned on with the thought of his blood rushing south into the sensitive are once more. He wiggled his fingers and toes. At least he could still feel those; that was a good sign. Not that he was in any danger here with Sloane, of all people…but still…He heard the door click open and his head swivelled to the sound. She still wore her heels; he knew it was her because he could smell her perfume.

"Are you comfortable, Murphy?"

He frowned and twisted on the bed. "I'm a little warm, Mistress."

He heard her set something down on the table next to the bed. "I can help you with that. Do you remember your safe word?"

"Aye, Mistress. Birmingham."

She made no other sound after that. The seconds crawled by and then a shock of cold and wet, of ice, slid up his leg, from knee to navel. It was followed by the warm, soft glide of what he guessed was Sloane's tongue, and in the blackness of the blindfold, he strained to see.

She hummed against his belly, the vibrations roaring through him, and she turned her head, letting the soft copper strands of her hair whisper over his skin. "You taste good, Murphy," she purred. The ice returned, scorching him to the bone as she rolled it up his flank and to the hollow of his throat. That path was traced by her mouth as well. He heard a crunching sound and then the cool velvet slide of ice-cold lips touched his; her tongue, blissfully, achingly sweet and cool, slipped into his mouth and lingered for seconds. Then she was gone and Murphy realized that he was straining against his bonds; that he had come up off of the bed in search of her lips.

"Relax," she chuckled, placing a firm hand in the center of his chest and pushing him back. "I won't leave you unsatisfied. But we've got a little while to go, I think. What does this feel like, Murphy?"

"Like me blood is on fire…an' frozen in me veins all at once."

Sloane pressed her thighs together at the thickness in his voice. "Do you like it?" Her own voice was just as thick.

"Aye, Mistress," Murphy nodded.

Sloane took up the cup with ice and placed another cube in her mouth, rolling it around the cavity and crunched down on it. Leaning down, her mouth covered his nipple, and the resulting cry from him made her groan in spite of herself. She couldn't help the way her core ground down against him, and she shifted against the feel of his cock coming to life once more. His hardness pressed against her, rubbing the damp fabric of her panties against her clit and she forced herself to sit up, and back, and take a few calming breaths.

"May I speak again, Mistress?"

Sloane's eyes fluttered as she forced the swirling pleasure in her belly away. "You may," she said hurriedly, dying to hear what he had to say in that sprawling brogue.

"I can feel ya…yer cunt, pressed against me. Yer so fuckin' wet. An' hot."

Sloane's eyes slipped shut once more and her hips jolted forward against him, causing him to groan lowly.

"I can practically smell ya…sweet and salty…" he paused and swallowed. "Jayzuz, Mary, n'Joseph, I want ta taste ya," he rambled. "Just a taste. Please."

He was a fucking _natural_ at being submissive. The thought dawned on Sloane like a swelling, burning welt, and she shuddered at the rawness in his voice. She reached out with one hand, flicking her thumb around his nipple, while her other hand slid down into her panties. Not like she needed him to confirm it, but she was wet, practically soaked, and when she touched her clit it was hard and aching. She bit back a sharp moan and instead concentrated on the whimper from Murphy's mouth as she rubbed the sensitive peak of his nipple harder and harder. Withdrawing her hand with some reluctance, Sloane leaned up and, as she closed her thumb and forefinger around Murphy's nipple and began to squeeze, the fingers she'd used on herself hovered over his lips.

"Say 'please' again. Your mouth looks so good when you say it."

"_Please_," Murphy practically keened.

His senses were overloaded with her taste. The sweet musk of her coated his lips first, and then his tongue, as her fingers slid into his mouth. The realization that she had touched herself right there in front of him hit him like a ton of bricks and he sucked greedily as a sharp burst of pleasure and pain rocketed through his body. Her fingers came away with a wet pop and he cried out sharply as his cock threatened to burst.

"Ah, _fuck_!" he grunted, hips bucking, looking for any relief he could get. "Birmignham!" he cried out.

Sloane paused, panting, and pouted at Murphy. "Are you sure?" she asked, rather breathlessly. She'd been close to coming, herself, and she had barely touched herself. Murphy's undoing was going to be her own, she was sure of it.

Murphy's breathing heaved his chest and he groaned, rolling his head along the pillow. "Sloane," he drawled helplessly. "I..." he shuddered beneath her, his shoulders shaking. He stilled after a moment.

"Murphy?" Sloane asked, wanting to know – _needing_ to know – if he really wanted her to stop. "Do you want me to stop?"

There was a moment of silence, and of stillness, and Murphy finally sighed and sagged back into his restraints. "No, Mistress."

Sloane breathed a little sigh of relief. She was very close to him letting his guard down. She'd have him like he'd had her the night before, a slave, an outlet, to this thing that was burning and twisting inside of her. He'd made her his. It was only fair that she did the same to him.


	6. Chapter 6

She flipped the blindfold off and watched as he blinked rapidly, squinting in the dim light of the room. His dark hair was wild about his head and the sheen of sweat on his skin only served to make his muscles stand out in stark shadows. His tattoos stood out against the flush in his pale skin; someday soon, Sloane decided, she'd map all the ink with her mouth and commit it to memory.

For now, however, she was fascinated with the bright and eager sparkle in Murphy's eyes and she hummed in approval as he licked his lips. She held out a glass of water for him and he drank eagerly, collapsing back against the pillow with a sigh once his thirst was slaked.

"Are you ready to continue?"

Murphy grinned, perhaps a little bit loopy, and nodded down to between his thighs. "You tell me," he husked.

Sloane smirked at his breezy tone; he was drunk on a hormonal cocktail. Sweeping her gaze down to where he had indicated, she took stock of the hard, angry erection that Murphy sported, prolonged by the leather strap she'd fastened around him. She knew that physically he wouldn't be able to take much more. That was fine with her; she was almost past her peak and wanted nothing more than to have Murphy deep inside of her, fucking her into oblivion.

Turning to his feet, she quickly slipped the knots that held him and he groaned, pulling his knees up and flexing his thigh muscles. He watched, his blue eyes gone almost black, as she stood and slipped out of her bra and panties. The sight of her breasts, flushed and heavy, and the tiny pink peaks of her nipples, made his mouth go dry. A helpless whimper escaped him as his eyes raked down and found the small thatch of copper curls glistening with untapped lust. He silently thanked the lord – she was as turned on as he was, and if that was any indication, Sloane wanted to come, and come badly. He was all for it.

"Let me fuck you," she demanded softly, already climbing onto the bed and straddling his hips.

He groaned, remembering that he had said the very same thing to her not eighteen hours before. He nodded quickly. "Aye, Mistress." He pulled on the ropes that still held his hands. "Gonna untie me?"

Sloane shook her head slowly as she balanced up on her knees and slid a hand between her thighs. She flicked her fingers up and down the slick, engorged flesh of her sex and bit her lip with a groan. "No," she rasped. "You don't need your hands in order for me to fuck you." Her hips rocked into her hand and she mewled, sinking her middle finger into her tight hole. "Fuck, Murphy, I'm so wet," she whispered, looking at him from under her lashes. She hissed, plunging her finger deeper, feeling the slick muscles contract around the slim digit. "And tight," she continued. "And I don't know if your cock is going to fit," she added with a playful pout.

Her other hand circled the base of his erection and she squeezed his hard thickness firmly as she drew her hand up his length. She fisted him like that for a moment, squeezing and pulling until he was shaking beneath her. "It'll fit," he advised quickly with a swift nod of his head. "It'll fit, I promise. An' it'll feel so fuckin' good, girl." He was rambling, and Sloane was too far gone with him to care that he no longer called her 'Mistress'. "Please," he went on. "Put yer pussy on me," he urged, bucking his hips up.

Raising up to her knees, she hovered over him, one hand planted on his belly for balance, while the other caught a fistful of his dark hair. She rolled her hips as she lowered herself, sweeping the hot, steely head of his cock along her slit. "Oh, fuck," she muttered, inhaling sharply.

Murphy surged beneath her, pushing the first inches of his cock into her, and he groaned thickly. It turned to a whine when Sloane backed off and tightened her grip in his hair.

"Patience," she hissed, though she didn't know if she was instructing him or herself. She stroked him again, and feel of her wetness spreading down his shaft made her tingle and want to crawl out of her skin.

"Fuck patience," Murphy snarled, his arms straining against the ropes. "For Chrissake, Sloane!" he growled. "Do you want me ta beg?"

Sloane paused, his words settling over her, and she opened her eyes once more and stared down at Murphy with a small smile. "Yes."

"I don't know how else I can say it," he huffed, trying desperately to push up into her pussy once more. He succeeded in slicking the head against her clit and the electricity that resulted jolted them both. His jaw clenched as his eyes did, and he felt tears or sweat rolling down his cheeks. "I want ya, Sloane. It hurts so bad, girl," he continued, dropping his guard. He watched, paralyzed, as Sloane's back arched and her hand buried deeper between her thighs. Gulping a breath, Murphy scrambled to continue. "Lord above, I need ya. Need ya ta sink that tight, hot pussy onto me. Want to come hard, deep inside ya." He paused, and listened to her sighs and the tiny whimpers that she made when she was on the verge of coming. Breathing heavily, he spoke again. "Want ya ta come with me cock in ya. Want ya ta brand me. Make me yers, girl."

With a breathy cry, Sloane slid dangerously close to the edge, and her fingers cramped from rubbing maddening circles over her clit and fucking herself. The hand that clutched his hair moved to her breast and she pulled at a taut nipple, making it hurt so that it brought her back from that pleasurable abyss she teetered on. His name tumbled from her lips and her hips circled once more before finally dropping down and taking his length deep inside.

She froze, her muscles contracting, and beneath her, Murphy arched sharply and _howled_. She was almost choking, he was filling her so much, and as she stretched and strained to accommodate him, she felt his pulse, felt his hips twitching and rising and falling, failing miserably to establish any sort of rhythm. Slowly, she relaxed, and her hands came to Murphy's chest where she pressed a palm against his heart, and one to his belly. She drew a deep breath, and then another, and opened her eyes.

"Murph," she whispered. "You need to relax, baby."

He shook his head stubbornly, his hips still stuttering against her pelvis.

She nodded and took his face in her hands. "Open your eyes." He obeyed, and she smiled down at him. "Now breathe." She inhaled and exhaled with him, and soon she felt his muscles loosen. Gently rotating her hips, she found that he had swelled even more, now that he wasn't concentrating on his body moving. She groaned deep in her throat, letting her head fall back. Her hands slid back from his chest and moved to her body, smoothing up her torso to cup her breasts gently. "Put your knees up," she murmured. He did as she asked, and she sat back against his legs. Snaking her fingers to where they were joined, she managed to press her thumb against the underside of his cock, stroking up every time she moved.

"Oh, fuck _me_," Murphy groaned as he felt Sloane's pussy flutter around him. Her thumb grinding sweetly, painfully into his burgeoning cock. He didn't think he could have gotten any harder, but he had, and now that he was breathing deeply, he felt blood shooting up and down his veins, through his limbs, bringing a rush of arousal with it.

"I'm trying to," Sloane muttered above him. Taking a hold of his hips, she rolled her pelvis back and down, and Murphy, being the quick study he was, pressed up on the balls of his feet and rocked his hips up under her. Sloane landed with a slight '_oof_', and winced at the thick pleasure. "Fuck, Murphy, I love your cock."

He hummed beneath her. "Aye, Mistress," he purred, rising as she backed down on him again.

She rode him steadily, and Murphy watched, slightly jealous that her hands got to palm her breasts, but every so often, she'd squeeze his cock where it sat deep inside of her and speed up her pace. He could live with that. Actually, he was fairly certain he was going to die a slow, drawn out, painfully arousing death. He'd been pushed to the edge quicker and in ways he didn't know existed, and each time he surprised himself – and Sloane – he craved it that much more. He'd always know he was a little more highly sexed than most, maybe even more than his brother, and now he knew he'd met his match in Sloane.

He winced as a rush of pleasure sliced through him and he pulled at the ropes again. "Sloane," he whispered hotly. "Untie me hands, girl. Want ta touch ya. Please."

To his delight, she nodded, and leaned forward to swiftly loosen the knots, drawing out a loud gasp from them both at the change of angle.

She was surprised when he didn't try to change positions, but merely flexed his arms and his wrists before gently laying his palms on her breasts. He squeezed the firm mounds, rolling the nipples with his palms, and before she could draw away and sit back, Murphy's torso jacked up and he caught her mouth with his in a slow kiss. Tongues licked at lips and he tasted her chin and her jaw and the sweat below her ears before he relaxed once more and let her have her way.

The calluses on his palms grated against the hard pink tips of her breasts and stripped another layer from the wire on which she balanced. Leaning back against his thighs once more, she caught one of his hands in hers and brought their twisted fingers down to where they were joined. She used his fingers to strum her clit, swiping upwards with every stroke until her toes curled and her free hand was clutching his hip. Her first orgasm was swift, coming and going on a breath, and it loosened her body, but not her arousal, and Murphy sank deeper.

She pitched forward, already feeling her stamina diminish. With a hand on either side of his shoulders, Sloane bent down and kissed Murphy deeply, concentrating on the taste of his mouth and the scratch of his beard, as their hips ground together furiously. Belly to belly, her small breasts flattened to his chest, their thundering hearts pounding together, and he slid on hand to her hip and the other to her hair, holding her mouth steady against his as he jerked his hips high and hard.

She hissed, snagging his lip with her teeth, and she pulled back enough to look him in the eye. Nodding frantically, she encouraged him. "Come, Murphy. I'm going to come again, come with me." Once more, she reached between their bodies.

He nodded, swallowing thickly and gritting his teeth. "Ah, Christ," he panted, the tendons in his neck standing out as he strained. "Here it comes," he muttered, pushing Sloane down as far as she would go. "Coming now," he warned. And then suddenly, blissfully, and agonizingly swift, the pressure that had kept his orgasm at bay released, and it was like his cock was one giant raw nerve, hot and cold and bursting. His cry was sharp, hoarse, and it shook with him as his body quivered.

She splintered apart above him, and below, he was demolished. Their hips stuttered erratically as they came back down, and their hands were heavy against each others bodies. Lips became languid, and contented sighs rose up as Sloane slumped against Murphy's chest and he melted into the mattress.

* * *

"What do you and floor tiles have in common?"

Murphy roused at the husky tone of Sloane's voice and he managed to turn his head out from under the pillow. He cracked an eye open. "Huh?"

She smiled mischievously. "I said, what do you and floor tiles have in common?"

He gave her a wry smile. "Dunno. What do we have in common?"

"If I lay you both right once, I can walk all over you for twenty years."

Murphy snorted as Sloane dissolved into a fit of giggles and he grabbed an extra pillow and smacked her over the head with it. "After the shaggin' I gave you last night, an' you with yer wicked ways this afternoon, I'd say we're both in top shape to be walked all over." He reached a long arm out and found her clove cigarettes next to the bed. Lighting two, he handed one off to her. "Don't tell Conn, aye? But tha things ya did ta me…" he chuckled, shaking his head, "Jesus Christ, Sloane, I'll be whatever ya want me ta be."

"Lord's name," Sloane chided. "And I couldn't have affected you _that_ much."

Murphy blew a sharp smoke ring, followed by two more, and shrugged. "Well, ya won't be rid of me easily, I can tell ya that."

"Funny," Sloane mused, blowing a stream of fragrant smoke from her lungs. "I was thinking the same thing."

* * *

end.


End file.
